


(and you and your) sweetest song

by Ejunkiet



Series: soft, unspoken sounds [2]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: (some singing), 17th century composers and Italian opera, F/M, Pure Unadulterated Fluff, Soft Nate Series, Soft Nate series part two, discussions on music and the past, otherwise known as the music fic, softness and kisses and tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25765351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet
Summary: Discussions (and more) on music, 17th century Italian opera, and the nature of love.--He kisses her and he tastes like chocolate and sugar, like the hot chocolate he makes on the nights she can’t sleep, and the tension fades away, until all she can think about is him and his mouth, and the soft movement of his lips against her own.
Relationships: Female Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell
Series: soft, unspoken sounds [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1829347
Comments: 12
Kudos: 65





	(and you and your) sweetest song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evil_bunny_king](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_bunny_king/gifts).



> Written as a gift to the benevolent ebk, for the prompt '17th century composers'.
> 
> The song _Pur ti Miro_ is by Claudio Monteverdi from one of his operas, and the full translated lyrics I've used can be found [here!](https://elektra.ca/pieces/pur-ti-miro/)

Emma can hear music from down the hall, soft notes played in a gentle melody, breaking the hushed quiet that she's grown accustomed to at the Warehouse facility over these last short months. It’s faint - she wouldn’t have heard it if she hadn’t been up already and wandering the halls, navigating the labyrinthine warren of corridors and unmarked doors as she makes her way back to her room from the kitchen.

She finds the source of the music at the end of the hall: a grand piano, tucked into the corner of the dining room (and it must have always been there, she realises, recognising the shape of it) and Nate, his fingers dancing along the keys, the long form of him swaying gently along with the melody.

She leans against the doorframe, allowing her eyes to close briefly as she appreciates the moment, the gentle rhythm of his playing.

"This is… Monteverdi?"

There's a smile on his face as he glances up at her, and his eyes are soft as he takes in her pajamas and socks, the mug of steaming chamomile curled between her hands.

"It is."

"Did you know him? The composer," she elaborates when he shoots her a questioning look. 

There's a momentary pause in his playing, his shoulders shaking, before he swivels on the stool to face her fully and she realises he is _laughing_. "How old do you think I am?"

She grins then before biting her lip, letting her gaze travel lower, tracing the outline of him, the gentle curve of his back, the brush of his hair across the back of his open shirt - the strands longer now than before, brushing the nape of his neck - before flickering back up. "Old enough."

His eyes are darker when they meet hers again, creased with amusement before he shakes his head, turning back to the keys.

"I didn't have the pleasure." She laughs and he glances back at her with a wide smile before shifting on the narrow piano bench, making space for her. 

She only has to think about it for a moment. 

Placing her mug down on a nearby side table (taking care to locate a coaster so she doesn’t stain the antique wood, a gesture she knows he appreciates, can see it in the curve of his smile as he watches her) she takes the seat next to him, the flannel of her pajama pants brushing against the cool silk of his own.

He waits until she’s settled before he resumes playing, long fingers light on the keys, chasing the melody. The notes warm the space between them, and she’s so distracted with the movement of his hands as he plays that she almost misses it when he adds, almost an afterthought, "I believe Adam caught a showing of his last opera though, in Venice during the carnivale. He's always appreciated the arts."

She blinks, glancing away from his hands to examine his expression. "Does he play?"

Nate shakes his head, his lips twisting into a rueful smile. "He doesn't." He glances over at her again, holding her gaze, and for the first time she realises just how little space there is between them, seated close together like this.

At this distance, she can see that his eyes aren't just brown - there are hints of green there too, a halo around the iris, small flecks of jade that encroach on the center.

His gaze is warm, his voice gentle as he asks, "Do you?"

"A little. Mostly prefer listening though." She smiles back at him, and he returns it with equal warmth. His arm brushes against hers as he moves to reach the last few notes, before the song ends, reaching its natural conclusion, and the music stops.

A comfortable silence falls over them, and she looks over to find him studying her, his expression soft. She studies him in turn, the delicate arch of his brow, clear of the wrinkle that so often forms there, the warm creases at the corners of his eyes, the gentle curve of his mouth.

“That was beautiful.”

His eyes crease as his smile widens, and he bows his head graciously. 

"I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He hesitates a moment, and she can see the glint of his teeth on his lower lip, before he asks, “Is there something you’d like me to play for you?"

She thinks about it for a moment, all the while very much aware of his eyes on her, the weight of it, the way they drop to her mouth as she bites her lower lip. " _Pur ti miro?_ ”

She’d seen the opera live once in Verona, during her semester abroad in Venice, and she’d always loved this particular moment, the duet shared between two lovers - the romance of it, coupled with the beauty of the music.

His gaze flickers back up to hers, and from the look he’s giving her, the significance of her selection is not lost on him. “A fitting choice.”

There’s a moment when he leans in, close enough that she can feel his breath against her cheek, and all she can see him is and the soft way he looks at her - before his searching fingers find the keys, and she lets out a breath, leaning back to grant him more access as he begins playing again.

The rumble of laughter in his chest makes her cheeks flush with heat, and she takes revenge on him by shifting closer on the seat, until their thighs are flush, and he has no choice but to press against her as he plays. The rumble in his chest turns into a low hum, but if he’s inconvenienced by her presence, he makes no show of it, his fingers dancing along the opening bars before settling into the melody she recognises, and she sits back into her seat, leaning against him as she lets out a contented sigh.

She shifts her weight on the seat until she’s settled more comfortably against him, angling her body to the side until she can rest her cheek on his shoulder, and he turns his head with a smile, brushing a soft kiss against her hair.

Then he starts to sing under his breath, softly at first, his voice as beautiful as the notes he plays. It's Italian for the most part, but there are some words she doesn’t recognise, and she wonders if this is more like how it was played back then, incorporating some of the older, regional dialects that have since been lost to time.

_“Pur ti miro, pur ti stringo,_

_pur ti godo, pur t’annodo_

_piu non peno, piu non moro,_

_o mia vita, o mio tesoro._

_Io son tua, tuo son io._

_Speme mia, dillo di,_

_l’idol mio, tu sei pur._

_Si mio ben, si mio cor, mia vita, si.”_

He turns and looks at her then, his hands leaving the keys, and her heart skips in her chest as his eyes flicker across her features, soft and tender, before he takes her face into his hands, running his thumbs along her cheekbones as he sings the final verse. 

_“O mia vita, o mio tesoro… O mia vita, o mio tesoro.”_

_Oh my dearest. Oh my beloved._

Her heart is beating a rapid pace within the confines of her rib cage and she knows he can hear it, she can see it in the way his smile curls at the edges of his lips as he leans in, brushing his nose against hers, their breaths mingling.

He kisses her and he tastes like chocolate and sugar, like the hot chocolate he makes on the nights she can’t sleep, and the tension fades away, until all she can think about is him and his mouth, and the soft movement of his lips against her own.

She can’t help the noise she makes when he breaks away from the kiss, but he doesn’t pull away from her for long, his hands moving to the curve of her waist before he lifts her in a fluid move, swinging her gracefully onto his lap.

Or at least, that was his intention - but caught unawares, she can’t help but startle, her arms flailing backwards, hands colliding with the piano keys in a cacophony of discordant notes.

There’s a moment of shocked silence where they stare at each other, before she bursts into laughter.

“I’m sorry,” she gasps out, almost breathless as she leans into him, hands moving to his shoulders as she resettles herself in his lap, and he’s laughing as well, even as he circles his arms around her waist, bringing her in closer.

“The fault is mine,” he says with a sigh and she catches a glimpse of his rueful smile before he leans in, dropping his head onto her shoulder, his breath soft against her neck. “I have to admit, that is not how I imagined this night going.”

She runs her fingers through his hair, tangling them in the longer strands at the nape as he sighs again, this time accompanied by a hum of appreciation. His hands shift in their grip on her waist, slipping beneath the hem of her shirt to find her stomach, gentle brushes against the sparse few inches of revealed skin.

“Well, the night’s not over yet.”

There’s a flush on his cheeks when he lifts his head again, the sheepish edge to his smile melting away as she licks her lips, his eyes tracking the movement, and she grins back at him, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his nose.

He wraps his arms around her more fully, his hands slipping up her back, his palms warm against her skin. His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded as he murmurs softly back to her, “What have I done to deserve you, Emma?”

"That's my line," she whispers back, sinking into him, letting her hands slip around his neck as she presses another soft kiss to the line of his jaw, his throat. He groans under her, shifting his hips until they fit together just right and this moment turns into something else entirely. 

She pulls back for a moment before they go too far, and he looks up at her, his expression open and honest, and she can see how much he feels for her, can see the adoration written across every inch of him. Her hands frame his face, and she lets herself speak the words sitting thickly at the back of her throat.

"I'm so happy I met you."

His eyes crease into a happy smile, and he pushes up to capture her mouth, kissing her with an eager fervor that takes her breath away and leaves her aching in more ways than one.

There's not much time for talking after that.

\--

They stay curled together on the piano seat long after her tea has gone cold, until pale light filters into the room with the small hours of the morning, and the threat of exposure combined with the encroaching chill chases them from the public space and into the hall.

He parts with her outside of her door, his hands leaving her with reluctance as they linger on the threshold.

“I hope you’ll play for me again sometime.”

His eyes crease as he leans in again, abandoning any and all propriety as he kisses her softly, slow and lingering. 

“I look forward to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and/or comments greatly appreciated! Come and find me on tumblr (ejunkiet) and join in 'The Wayhaven Writers Support Group' for writing sprints!


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